Running on Empty (28 page)

‘Mandy, you wouldn’t have a brown manila envelope big enough to take this, would you?’

Mandy handed him the envelope.

‘Excellent, thanks. I’ll talk to you later’ he said, before he exited the building and headed towards his car. On arriving at the government offices, he wrote Lowanski’s name on the front of the envelope with a large felt tip marker, exited the car and strolled to reception.

‘Hello detective, I’m afraid Mr. Fielding isn’t in at the moment’ began the secretary.

‘That’s ok, it’s Stan Lowanski I’m looking for’.

‘I’m afraid he isn’t in either’ she continued.

‘Shit, I have this file he was looking for. He asked me to get it to him as soon as possible, said it was urgent. You wouldn’t happen to know his whereabouts, would you?’

‘Well, I can try his cell phone if you like’

‘Would you please?’

She picked up the desk phone and pressed three digits. After a short pause, she looked back up to Brad.

‘I’m afraid he’s not answering, detective, but that’s not unusual for Mr. Lowanski. I’m sorry. You could leave it here, and I’ll make sure he gets it when he returns to the office. Alternatively, you could try again tomorrow?’

‘I’d prefer to give it to him myself, to be honest, and as soon as possible too. Would you have his address, and I could drop by and see if he’s home?’

‘I’m afraid we’re not allowed reveal the addresses of personnel, detective’.

‘I understand, but as you say yourself, I am a detective. Maybe we can make an exception in this instance? Stan’d be pretty mad if he knew this file was available for him, and he didn’t get it’

The secretary looked at Brad, and pondered her dilemma. Behind her stare he could see the wheels turning. She turned to her screen and began tapping keys.

‘102 Brookwood, Apartment 12. If there’s any flack, you didn’t hear it from me, ok?’

Detective Johnson mimicked a zip being pulled across his lips as he nodded.

Brookwood eh? Pretty fancy address for a nine to five’er
, he thought, as he headed for the exit.

Brad pulled up outside 102 Brookwood, and made his way to the entrance. He checked the names, and pressed the buzzer marked Lowanski. No answer. He pressed again, waited a few moments more, then pushed the porter button. A middle aged man in a smart grey uniform approached the glass door. Brad flashed his badge, and the porter smiled and opened up.

‘Hi detective, what can I do for you?’

‘Say, don’t I know you?’ began Brad, ‘were you in the force?’

‘Sure was, detective. Twenty years service, finished up three years ago. Worked out of Charlestown, mainly’.

‘Seems like you fell on your feet. Nice little number you got here. Always a pleasure to hook up with one of Boston’s finest’ said Brad as he held out his hand. ‘Brad Johnsons the name’.

‘Sam Goldstein, Brad’ the porter replied, shaking hands warmly.

‘Say Sam, I’m punching the hours on my final lap. Got about ten months to go. Wouldn’t mind a nice little top up to the pension, like you’ve got going here. Any chance of mentioning my name if anything crops up?’

‘No problem, Brad. I hear of anything, I’ll let you know. Anyway, what can I do for you today?’

‘That’s great Sam, appreciate it. I’m here to see an acquaintance, Stan Lowanski’,

‘I’m afraid Mr. Lowanski isn’t here at the moment, Brad. In fact haven’t seen him in a couple of days now’.

‘Yeah, I know. He rang me a short time ago. Said he was running late, probably won’t be home for another hour or more. But I have this file here he wants to get his hands on asap. Asked me to wait. Told me about you, and said that with both of us being in the same line and all, I might be able to use my charm and get you to let me in to his crib, and that if I did get in, I was to make myself a coffee and watch some tv, and he’d be with me just as soon as he could’.

‘Sure Brad, no problem. If we can’t help each other, then who can we help eh? C’mon up and I’ll open her’.

Brad thanked Sam for his help, and quickly closed the door to Lowanski’s apartment. He scanned the room. It certainly wasn’t in keeping with what he would have expected from its up-market address. It was Spartan, functional, more than a little tacky, and it didn’t smell too great either. A couple of prints of scantily clad women, the originals having being done by a painter with more of an eye for detail than artistic merit, hung in their plastic gilt frames on each side of a fake marble fireplace. The walls were a dull beige, and the fawn carpet had multiple stains resulting from, Brad guessed, spillages of either coffee or alcohol. A large overstuffed couch, with frayed arms, sat facing a giant television screen, beside it, a rack of DVD’s which, Brad noted, all seemed to contain the letters XXX.

Not exactly home sweet home.

Right
, thought Brad,
time to go a hunting
.

No sign of a laptop or desktop, so Brad started with the drawers. He was checking through everywhere he could, as fast as he could, and coming up empty. Lowanski seemed to have his tracks covered pretty well.

Come Lowanski, you big ignorant shit, cough it up
.

Brad was beginning to despair, when he came across something curious.

That’s strange
, he thought,
why would a Boston knucklehead like Lowanski have a business card for a Nebraska import company?
He slipped it in his pocket, not fully understanding why, one of his hunches he supposed, and continued searching, but to no avail. He was just about to head out the door when he stopped, returning quickly to the kitchen table, and retrieving his John Deere envelope.

Shit, that was a close one
, he thought to himself as he exited.

‘No luck, Sam. Stan’s just after calling. He’s stuck on a job and can’t make it home. Guess it’ll have to wait ‘till tomorrow’

‘Ok, see you tomorrow then, Brad’ said the porter, giving a wave.

‘Don’t forget about me if you hear of anything Sam, will ya? It’s getting close to pension time, and an extra few dollars never goes amiss. Talk to you tomorrow’ said Brad, waving as he exited the block.

Brad sat, absently flicking the business card back and forth between his hands, in the car park of Massachusetts General. Finally, he put the card back in his pocket, and exited the car. He let out a heavy sigh as he headed for the hospital entrance. It was getting easier to come here with each passing visit, but easier still didn’t mean easy. A lot of demons lurked just below the surface.

He walked down the corridor to Sally’s room, knocked, and entered. A man in his mid twenties immediately stood up from the chair he was sitting on, stiffening, his alert eyes flicking from Brad to Sally and back again, unsure of what action he should take. Sally, who stood in the middle of the room, supporting herself on a walking frame, reassured him, and he relaxed slightly.

‘So detective, what brings you here?’

Brad didn’t answer. Instead he turned to the twenty something sentry.

‘Hi, my name’s Brad Johnson, detective with Boston police. I know you have a job to do, in your unofficial capacity as bodyguard to Sally, which is fine by me. However, I’m here in an official capacity investigating the murders of two people, and the attempted murder of our girl here, and I’d appreciate if you’d just fuck off for a short time, so Sally and I can have a little chat in private, is that ok?’

The guard turned to Sally, who nodded.

‘I’ll be just down the corridor if you need me’ he said, as he left the room, giving a withering glance at Brad on his way out.

‘Well, I see you’re making progress’ began Brad, ‘I didn’t expect you to be back on your feet so soon’

It was obviously a supreme effort for Sally. Beads of perspiration covered her forehead, matting her hair in places where it touched her brow. The bruises on her face had subsided considerably since his last visit, but she still had a way to go, he knew.

‘Yes. Only this morning I filled out the paperwork for the Boston City Marathon, and tomorrow I begin shooting a L’Oreal commercial. But that’s enough about me, so what can I do for you?’

Brad looked at her through sad, almost resigned eyes.

‘Look Sally, why don’t we cut the crap ok? I’m one of the good guys. I may not be the only good guy, but I’m certainly one of them. I’m here to help. I’m here to bring whoever’s done bad things to good people to justice. That’s my job, and I’m pretty good at it too. I’ve got less than a year to go before I retire. That’s a lot of experience. I’m not going to put you or your friend Tom Feeney in any more danger than you’re already in. I may not lessen or eradicate that danger, but I assure you I won’t add to it either. So what do you say we be honest with each other, and cut out the bullshit?’

‘Why were you crying that day when I woke up and you were sitting by the bedside?’

Brad’s sad eyes looked away, and he answered quietly.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to answer that, Sally. Let’s just say that it’s an old wound that hasn’t healed, will never heal. Can we leave it at that for now?’

Sally nodded. She slowly made her way back to the bed, using the walking frame for support. Brad made an attempt to help her, but she shook her head. This was her private battle. When she finally positioned herself on the edge of her bed, she turned to Brad.

‘Ok detective, shoot’.

‘Who did this to you?’

‘A nice friendly guy by the name of Stan Lowanski, and three of his associates’.

‘Do you know why exactly?’

‘Tom was to meet a work colleague, Chad I think his name was, in the hope that he could get some money for Tom. I went to the meet instead, dressed as a hooker, and Lowanski tracked me down. He wasn’t aware I knew Tom, he was just tying up any loose ends, following any leads he had. To him I was just an expendable lowlife that he wanted to make sure knew nothing’.

Tom’s in Ireland, isn’t he?’

Sally nodded.

‘Do you know where in Ireland?’

‘Look detective….’

‘Call me Brad?’

‘Look Brad, we said no bullshit right? So I’ll be honest with you.

I don’t know exactly where Tom is. I know the general area, and I have a name, which could narrow it down somewhat, but I’m not going to tell you. I’m usually pretty good at reading people. With the life I’ve lived, you had to be good at it to survive. And I reckon you’re all right, one of the good guys as you say. But you might inadvertently tell one of your colleges or bosses, or someone else who isn’t one of the good guys, and I can’t afford to take that chance, especially as you’ve no jurisdiction over there anyway, and consequently wouldn’t be able to do anything to help. Is that fair enough?’

‘Fair enough, we’ll move on. Do you know anything about Crawford, Nebraska?’

‘That’s the town where Crazy Horse was murdered, wasn’t it? , well just outside the town, at Fort William’.

Brad looked up, curious.

‘I’m a long time at this game, and the ability to surprise me with an answer is something very few people possess at this stage in my life. You just surprised me. I think the statute of limitations regarding Crazy Horse’s murder might be expired by now, but, an interesting answer nonetheless. I’m actually talking about a business, Crawford Import and Distribution Company, mean anything to you?’

‘I’m afraid not, never heard of it’.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

‘How come you’re homeless, Sally?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to plead the fifth on that one, Brad. As you said yourself, we don’t know each other well enough to delve into our respective demons’.

Another silence, as Brad mulled things over in his head.

‘Do you like hospital food, Sally?’

‘How do you mean, what are you getting at?’

‘Oh, I was just wondering how come you’re still in here. I know you’re not exactly in tip top shape, but you could be discharged if you wanted to be, and be an out-patient. I was just wondering why you’re still in here. Do you like it here?’

‘I hate it. I hate being fussed over. I hate being under scrutiny all the time. I hate having people I hardly know sit in the room with me 24/7. But, what choice do I have? The only way I can get around at the moment is in a wheelchair, and where I reside isn’t exactly wheelchair friendly. I could walk, but it’d take me two weeks just to get to the john’.